Falling for You
by Griever11
Summary: Season 4 AU that takes place before the 47 seconds arc. Beckett gets hurt and Castle doesn't like it. Based on a three word prompt.


Alex gave me a three word prompt based on Laura's traumatising true life events.

Season 4, before the 47 seconds arc.

* * *

She's not in the bullpen when he walks in.

Her monitor is turned on and there's a bowl of M&M's next to her keyboard so he knows she's been at work at least. He walks over to her desk, puts her coffee down by her keyboard and looks around.

Stretching his neck, he can see Ryan and Esposito in the break room having lunch, but no Beckett.

Curious.

"She stepped out for lunch, Mr. Castle."

Castle whirls around, finding himself face to face with Captain Gates. Her gaze is piercing and he feels like he's ten again, about to get a scolding from the principal for scribbling on the bathroom walls. He gulps.

"Uh. Okay. I'll just..." He stumbles back, ankles hitting the legs of his rickety old chair and he sinks down into it. "I'll wait. Here. Won't get in anyone's way, I promise, Sir."

"Hm," is all Gates says before she narrows her eyes and stalks past him. She disappears into her office, shutting the door behind her. When he's sure she can no longer see him, he releases a breath. Ugh. He hasn't had someone hate him this much for this long before and it makes him uncomfortable. Even Beckett warmed up to him eventually.

Speaking of Beckett...

He checks his phone in case he's missed a text from her. He pouts, feeling just a little put out. The last message was one he sent, asking her if she needed him to get lunch along with her coffee. She hasn't responded.

Disappointment unfurls in the pit of his stomach. She could have at least told him she was already planning to go out for lunch. He would have joined her in a heartbeat.

They've started spending a lot more time with each other ever since the incident with the tiger; they have lunches and dinners together, and sometimes he manages to convince her to go out to the movies with him to unwind after a long day. They're so comfortable with each other now, so this radio silence from her is unnerving.

Unless.

Unless she's having lunch with someone else.

 _Oh._ It feels like a knife is twisting in his gut. He blanches, refusing to entertain the thought any further. She wouldn't do that. Not without telling him.

He huffs unhappily and swipes his finger along the bottom of his phone. It unlocks and he fires off a quick message to her.

 _I have coffee, where are you?_

He casts another look around as he waits for a response. The boys are still in the break room and he wonders if he might as well go in and say hi. They might know where-

His phone vibrates and his heart leaps into his throat.

 _Sorry, I'm fine. Be up soon._

Sorry? Castle blinks and re-reads the message. She's _fine?_ He's on his feet in an instant, phone clutched tight in his hand. His fingers feel fat and slow as he pulls up her contact details.

It rings twice before the call connects.

"I said I'm fine, I'll be there soon, God, you're impatient today." Her voice comes through clearly and he can practically hear her eye roll.

"Why are you telling me you're fine?" he blurts, unable to help himself. And then it dawns on him that it's probably because she's _not_ fine.

She's silent on the other end and Castle feels like he's about to jump out of his skin. His voice rises an octave, panic creeping into his blood. _"Beckett?"_

The elevator dings from a distance and his eyes flick to it, expecting her to come out through the doors, laughing at him because it's all a stupid prank and he's fallen for it. She doesn't. His mind is racing a thousand miles a minute, imagination going into overdrive. "Beckett, are you _hurt_?"

He hears her sigh and then she speaks again, but it comes through a little faded like she's put him on speaker. "Ah, yeah, okay if you're going to be like that, come down to the locker rooms."

The call ends with an abrupt click and it leaves Castle with his mouth agape and his heart racing. It suddenly occurs to him that she _didn't_ say she wasn't hurt.

He grabs her coffee off the desk and hightails it out of the bullpen, opting to take the stairs instead of the elevator. He descends the stairwell quickly, two steps at a time, and when he arrives at the bottom, flings the door open without a second thought.

He's not a fan of this part of the precinct; it's dark, musty, and it permanently smells of sweat and rubber. He knows he has to make his way through the precinct gym to get to the locker room, so he jogs down the hallway, trying to remember his way around.

Eventually, he locates the double doors with a large 'GYM' sign emblazoned on it and pushes them open. A few heads turn his way as he enters and he feels entirely out of place among the sweaty, heavy-breathing, off duty cops.

Clearing his throat, he nods at them and smiles sheepishly before he starts walking again. He side steps the equipment lying haphazardly on the floor and crosses the room to make his way to the lockers.

He pushes another set of doors open and his voice echoes through the space, loud and booming. "Beckett, are you here?"

"By the showers," her voice rings out, and his shoulders sag with relief.

He follows the sound of her voice until finally, he finds her seated on a bench, looking just a little less put together than what he's used to.

His eyes widen as he takes her in. She has her hair down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She's in her work pants and a black tank top, thin and low cut and completely inappropriate for work. Her purple work shirt is folded in a neat pile next to her.

It's...it's a lot of skin.

The collar of her top rides low and his throat dries up as he lets his gaze linger on the swell of her breasts beneath the material of-

"Eyes up, Castle."

He startles and he feels his cheeks warm up. Beckett's staring at him but there's no heat in her glare. Instead she's smiling at him, a little bemused, and it makes him feel brave. He's about to make a quip about being overdressed for the occasion, something clever, flirty, maybe he can make her blush too.

But what is _that?!_

He'd been distracted by her lack of clothing before that he hadn't noticed until now. Her right elbow is scraped raw, and she has long, red scratches from her elbow to halfway down her forearm, marring her otherwise smooth, golden skin. There's a first aid kit by her feet, and a pile of balled up, blood-stained gauze in the trash can in front of the bench.

He gasps and it's a little over-dramatic, but he doesn't care. He forces himself into the space by her side, focused on nothing but the angry lines on her skin. He places the coffee he's holding on the floor, ignoring Beckett's fingers reaching out for it.

He's going to kill him. Or her. Or them. Whoever did this to her. She's hurt and he keeps thinking of the last time he saw her bleeding, lying on the ground with a bullet lodged in her chest. _God_. Invisible hands clench around his heart.

"Who did this to you?"

Beckett murmurs something beneath her breath but he doesn't hear her. His fingers circle her wrist, pulling her arm closer so he can have a better look. He runs his hands up her forearm, tracing feather light touches around the injury. It's like he has tunnel vision, everything else fading into the background as he inspects the wound.

"Beckett..." he's barely whispering, the pads of his thumbs drawing circles over the flesh on the inside of her elbow. "Beckett, I really hate it when you're hurt."

* * *

The anguish in his voice rips into her, slashing through the thin veil of indifference she's trying to put up for him. He doesn't take his eyes away from her elbow, hunched over as he examines her arm like he's solving an intricate puzzle.

"Castle, I'm okay." Her free hand slides through the thick strands of his hair and she guides him so he's looking up at her instead of her arm. The worry reflected in his eyes absolutely floors her and she reminds herself that this is the man who watched her die. The man willing to jump in front of a bullet for her, so brave and unyielding, and oh, she can't find it in herself to be annoyed at how over-protective he's being.

"It looks worse than it feels," she reassures him. Not quite the truth, but he doesn't need to know that. Her fingers trail down his cheek, cupping his jaw before falling away. "I'm okay, I promise."

"But you're bleeding." He's never been able to hide his emotions well and this time is no different. His eyes are glittering, wide open, making him look very much like a wounded little boy.

"What happened, Kate?"

She sighs, drawing her lips into a thin line. The fact that he's calling her Kate isn't lost on her. She tugs her hand out of his grasp gently so she can lace her fingers together. She rests them on her lap, clasped, and sucks in a deep breath.

"I tripped. There was...an incident and I tripped. That's-"

She doesn't get to finish talking because he's suddenly grabbing her right hand, causing her to fall into his personal space.

"Castle! What are you-"

"Here too?!"

A surge of annoyance rises up from within but she only has to take one look at him for it to wither away. His face is stony and his skin is tinged grey with worry. He doesn't let go, his giant hand dwarfing hers. "You fell really hard, huh?"

She winces at the slice of pain that travels down her arm as he checks the injury out. The bottom of her palm is badly scraped, crusty with dried blood. It's less severe than the cuts she sustained on her elbow but it still stings.

He growls. "You should have called me."

"I'm fine, Castle. A couple of band aids and I'll be good as new. It doesn't even hurt that much."

She's lying though. The abrasions actually hurt like hell, and her knees are just as skinned. The good thing is that she managed to put band aids on those and pull on her spare pair of pants before Castle arrived. She won't tell him about her knees. He's in enough distress as it is.

She uses a finger to tip his chin up, drawing his gaze away from her palm. The concern etched in his features warms her heart and even though it's unwarranted - she really _is_ fine - it's sweet.

But he looks so helpless and it tugs at her heartstrings. She doesn't know what else she can say to reassure him, and she knows all he wants to do is - oh, right. _Of course_. He likes to feel useful. She knows this about him; she should have just let him do this earlier.

She nudges him, bumping their shoulders together. "You wanna help patch me up?"

Castle reacts the way she expects him to. He brightens. His smile stretches across his face and he nods enthusiastically, gleaming with it. He bends over to pick up the first aid kit, rummaging through it. "Yes, I can help. I'm good with bandages. Alexis was a clumsy child, had to patch her up all the time." His nose crinkles. "There are no princess band aids in here. How boring."

Beckett stifles a laugh, feeling lighter now that Castle seems to have emerged from his funk. He busies himself with cleaning the scrape on her palm, working efficiently to clear the dirt and grime.

She watches with interest, allowing herself to wonder what it would have been like if she'd let him help with her recovery over the summer. He'd have been good at it, she thinks. Gentle. Kind. Understanding. And maybe they'd have been...

 _More._

She sighs.

"You okay? Did I hurt you?" He blinks at her nervously, apparently misinterpreting her sigh of regret for one of pain. "I can be gentler. Alexis used to hate this part too."

She shakes her head as she smiles. "No, you're doing great. You're a good dad. I bet you even kissed her all better." Her mouth slams shut the moment the words leave her lips. She wasn't thinking. Hadn't been. And now-

Castle turns to look at her, band aid in hand. He grins, cheeky and wide, and it makes her so glad that he's smiling again. She won't even mind whatever childish thing is about to come out of his mouth.

"I'll kiss you too if you want, Beckett." His lashes flutter, exaggerating, a smirk playing on his lips.

She scoffs and roll her eyes. "You're so predictable."

He winks at her, dabbing antiseptic onto her cut. It reminds her of the countless times she had to change the wrapping on her gunshot wound by herself, and once again, she wonders what it would have been like with him around. He stretches the band aid over her palm and then presses down on the adhesive, securing it in place.

When she hisses at the sharp sting of contact with her injured skin, he actually chuckles at her. "You big baby," he murmurs, tightening his hold on her wrist, keeping her from jerking away.

"You love me anyway." She's so caught up in what-ifs and the memories of the past summer that she doesn't realize she's speaking out loud until it's too late. She yanks her hand out of his and it flies to her mouth as she gasps.

A wave of panic crashes into her and the secret festering deep in her gut flares into life.

Shit.

* * *

There's a dull roaring in his ear. Blood, he thinks. This is what people mean when they talk about hearing blood rushing in their ears.

 _You love me anyway._

It echoes in his head, repeats on a loop over and over as he remains speechless. He can 't look at her. Can't bear to see the terror-stricken look on her face, so he turns from her and slides a few inches away.

It feels strange. He finds that he's not surprised. But he's surprised he's not surprised. If that makes any sense. Nothing makes sense.

 _You love me anyway._

A part of him always suspected she heard him that day. It's the part that he keeps locked up in the deep recesses of his heart. Because it's easier that way; easier to pretend that she doesn't know how he feels than to admit to himself that he's chasing after a lost cause.

And now? Now he can't pretend anymore. He knows that she knows that he loves her, and the fact that she lied to him for so long about knowing about his feelings makes him angry. It doesn't sit well with him and he just wants to go. Leave. Exit, stage right, so he can save what little dignity he has left.

But he can't. He's so hopeless, helpless, so completely and irrevocably in love with her that he can't make himself leave when she needs him. He still has a job to do, bandage her wounds, and he won't quit just because he's hurt and wounded by her actions. Her _in_ actions. He won't be the petulant child she keeps accusing of being. He can be an adult about this.

He clenches his jaw, trying to maintain some semblance of control over himself. He tries, fingers curling into tight fists against his thighs but it wants out anyway. "Why, Kate?"

It's all he can manage, his voice breaking in tandem with the fissures forming in his heart.

"Rick..."

"You lied to me."

"I...Can you look at me?" Her voice is quiet, pleading, and he can't deny her request.

The anguish in her eyes leaves him breathless, like he's being punched right in the solar plexus. She's biting her lip and her fingers are fidgeting in her lap. Her chest is heaving and she's trembling, like she's trying to keep herself from falling apart.

Well. He knows how that feels.

"I lied."

"I know."

Her good hand - the one he's already doctored, reaches out to touch him, spreading her fingers tentatively over his knee. "I-I needed time, Castle."

"Yes, you said that."

"I didn't-"

He talks over her. "-love me. I know. You don't love me." He doesn't need to hear it. Honestly. He's heard enough. He covers her hand with his, relishing in the contact, tearing him apart at the seams. "It's okay. I can try-"

"That is not-"

"-to stop, I can do it, Beckett; I promise. It won't be a problem-

"Castle, I don't want you to stop lov-"

"I'll need time, but I can-"

"You're not _listening to m_ e!"

He startles, taken aback by the volume of her voice. He blinks, replays the conversation in his head. He can't make sense of anything, and she's looking at him the way he usually looks at her; yearning and wanting and it isn't quite clicking and wait. _Wait._

"You don't want me to stop loving you?"

"No."

"Beckett, I don't under-"

And then she's kissing him. His world spins on its axis. Her fingers are twisting the material of his shirt, pulling him closer until he crashes against her. Her mouth works against his, punishing, hot, needy, insistent. He groans when she slides her tongue past his lips and all the anger and frustration melts away. He's drowning in her.

His hands slip under the tank top, fingers spreading over the skin of her back, crushing her to him. She gasps, breathy in his ear, and it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard in his life.

When she eventually pulls back from him, her eyes are shining.

"I love you too, Rick."

* * *

END

* * *

 _Twitter: estheryam  
tumblr: griever11_


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